


The Trevelyans of Ostwick

by Nebulad



Series: Run With the Hare || Hunt With the Hounds [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Meet the Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 02:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7871260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulad/pseuds/Nebulad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While visiting the Inquisitor's family in Ostwick, Dorian is left alone in the estate while Theros Trevelyan attends a hunting trip with his stepfather. This allows for plenty of time for the mage to get to know the rest of the clan— even the parts Theros had <i>neglected</i> to tell him about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You would hate it— _I’m_ going to hate it,” Theros assured Dorian. They’d been visiting the Trevelyan Estate in Ostwick for a few days now, where Dorian learned in horror how completely unprepared he was for this… whole entire thing. Between Theros’ younger half-sister Marcela, a young woman in her early twenties with a talent for _reading_ people that left Dorian bare in front of her, and his mother Lady Trevelyan who was always giving him these _looks_ as if she _knew_ he was her son’s lover... he was going mad.

He’d asked Theros to keep _them_ a secret. He knew Ostwick wasn’t Tevinter and he knew that Theros’ mother and stepfather were both well aware of his romantic inclinations and had no problem with it… but he couldn’t shake the fear that it would colour how the family looked at him. If he could shake himself out of whatever stupor this whole journey seemed to put him in and make a good impression, then he was sure the… reveal would go better.

Of course now Theros was going on a hunting trip with his stepfather, the Lord Trevelyan, and leaving Dorian behind at the bloody estate to fend for himself. “Apparently it is my _duty_ to attend, but I’ll spare you the gory, testosterone details— take a few days in the library and remember me as I was.”

Dorian leaned up to kiss him, despite the slow terror building in his gut. Alone in the estate with Lady Maria Carina Trevelyan de Seleny and her… _perceptive_ daughter Marcela who seemed _fascinated_ with Dorian, though with none of the _easy_ things about him. She already knew about Tevinter and indeed spoke a little Tevene, and she was _interested_ in magic but not so much to distract her. _She_ wanted to know about why he’d left Tevinter. What it was like on the run with no money. How he had come to join the Inquisition. Had he been afraid of the Venatori?

He was there to see Theros off in the morning, trying to seem confident and… less like he was going to throw up, and as the man wished, he deflected Lord Trevelyan’s last minute invitation. “I’d only slow you down— I’m useless with weapons, really, and I hardly think you’d like the meat as charred as I can make it,” he’d said. The assembled laughed uncomfortably and Dorian remembered that southerners and magic were not friends. Lord Yong Trevelyan, to his credit, seemed unbothered and laughed uproariously.

“Hopefully in the meantime you’ll find the estate diverting enough,” he said, or rather shouted, oddly enough both friendly _and_ polite. Dorian bowed and as the Lord rode away with a wave, looked to Theros. It was probably going to be the most awkward farewell they’d ever had, and it would seem Dorian was no stranger to being awkward.

“Try not to get yourself gored.” He might’ve said that anyway, although it would have sounded a bit different if it came with the accompanying kiss that was left hanging between them.

“But that means I get to come back,” he groused, mounting his Taslin Strider.

“Try to avoid it anyway.” _Maker_ he’d take spending time with the Trevelyans so long as it meant Theros went at least a day without major injury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do yall see now why I always use quotes from the story as summaries? It's so boring, but so's the writing and here we are anyway. [My writing blog is here](http://nebulaad.tumblr.com) where stuff gets posted first and other stuff that I could be more clear about if I was less bone fucking tired.


	2. Chapter 2

Lady Maria didn’t look like her son, which made Dorian all the more curious about the Dalish father Theros wasn’t supposed to tell him about. Certainly they were related, but his mother was soft brown like domesticated earth— a garden, perhaps— and elegant in a way that Theros never carried himself. She was friendly as well, which Dorian… hadn’t expected. Matriarchs in Tevinter were cold as iron and almost as inflexible, and even women like his mother who buried herself in research and avoided monitoring the household still maintained a stringent sense of decorum.

Lady Maria invited him to tea.

She assured him that it would only be the two of them— the others who usually attended cancelled to take advantage of the weather they’d been having lately. “Idiots,” she proclaimed, sipping raspberry tea from a white porcelain cup. “The whole lot of them. I came to Ostwick to marry my husband when Theros was only a toddler, and they still treat me like I moved here from the Tellari Swamps.”

“I know the feeling, believe me,” he said, staring down at his cup. “Every time I made eye contact you’d have thought I was siphoning off someone’s soul.” _Maker_ the very thought of Mother Giselle still made his head ache. Everyone else could talk behind his back just fine but no, she had to _confront_ him as if he were honestly trying to corrupt the Inquisition.

“My son treats you kindly, yes? He isn’t old enough that I cannot ground him,” she said in a mildly threatening manner— not towards Dorian, though, which was a breath of fresh air. He laughed because frankly no one had been friendlier— it was hard to beat an open mouthed kiss in the library.

“He was a perfect host, I assure you. Never have I been so warmly welcomed.” Never had he been so comfortable, really— he usually did manage to be subtler about flirting, something less _obvious_ that he could brush off if it wasn’t received well, but Theros was just so... clumsy. His smiles were handsome but _panicked,_ like Dorian had told him he had a spider on him rather than he deserved to have his shoulders rubbed.

Lady Maria smiled into her cup and it occurred to him that maybe he’d given away more than intended. It was his paranoia talking, he knew, but… “I am surprised, really. I had expected any friends Theros made to be wholly uncivilised— he is _so_ fond of his criminals and slums,” she said disapprovingly.

“Well I’m hardly the gentleman my parents wished I was, but I do all right.” He knew that much about Theros, that he was more likely to be found in a sketchy tavern surrounded by the likes of Bull and Sera— it was only good luck that Dorian was usually there as well. _Slumming it,_ his father called it. How could he slum when he was no better than the rest?

“Truly? Tevinter must have very high standards for children.” She was flattering him and he was actually enjoying it.

“When everyone has magic it’s not much of a novelty. There’s only one job worth having and it requires you to be the best in the entire country; there’s very little room for failure.” So little room that Dorian could feel himself avoiding going back, because while mother had certainly gotten over the fact that he wouldn’t marry a woman she would _never_ forgive how sloppy he’d gotten in his research. He’d hardly written anything down in months.

“Only the one?” she asked curiously.

“It’s Archon or nothing, really. Certainly other families could settle for a Grand Enchanter, but what would be the use?” Of course he spared her all the gory reproduction details— Magisters just made stronger mage children, apparently, and so logically the Archon must produce the strongest of all. Certainly she’d be off-put by just how badly the in-laws wanted a child with magic, and how unlikely it was that it was going to happen. Dorian had better things to do than to nanny a child, and frankly the thought terrified him. Even if he and Theros reached out for a child of their own… he had no positive frame of reference. He had his own parents that he’d fled south to avoid and, Maker forbid, Alexius.

“Well for what it’s worth, you’ve made a smashing impression upon me either way. I would be proud to call you my son,” she said, patting his knee. For a moment he didn’t even realise that she’d let slip that she knew (Maker of course she knew, Theros could barely go a moment without giving him that enchanted look like Dorian really was stealing his soul).

The sentiment was worth a truly embarrassing amount.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might be able to tell, but I don't have a lot going for Maria atm. She's probably led a very exciting life though I mean, she had twins with a Dalish warrior. We can all only hope to be so lucky.


	3. Chapter 3

Dorian was a completely innocent party, and when Theros would later demand to know how he had learned truly his best kept secret, he would say as much. _He_ had simply been standing in the hallway when Lady Marcela had darted over to him, nearly _bouncing_ with excitement. When she was _that_ worked up, who was he to say no to whatever foolish thing she wanted of him?

She didn’t look much like Theros— like his mother there was a suggestion of relation that was overwhelmed by a mishmash of genetics that just hadn’t found his _amatus._ Marcela looked the most like her father, Lord Yong, with round eyes, a flat nose, low cheekbones, and golden red hair. There were traces of the Antivan blood brought by their mother, but between the siblings there was no doubt that she was the heir of the estate.

Of course for all their differences, they shared an unsettling ability to _read_ people. In Theros it was less pronounced simply because he didn’t usually care to exercise the ability. He could read the motive of an adversary (or a lover being dodgy about something) in a heartbeat, if he wasn’t so inclined to simply ignore it or shout an answer out of them. Marcela worked a subtle magic, though, often simply blurting out facts about Dorian that he’d thought he’d kept rather well-hidden.

It was what he braced himself for when he’d heard her heels clicking towards him, but instead she simply grabbed his arms to steady herself. “Are you available for an afternoon, Lord Pavus?” she asked politely, curtseying once it occurred to her how _alarming_ she was being.

“Dorian, please, and… yes?” And that was perhaps the strongest similarity between her and her brother— Dorian was simply fucking _unable_ to say no to either of them. His reasons for Theros were rather obvious, but with Marcela he couldn’t fathom why he couldn’t put a stop to disasters before they happened.

“Good! Good, I’ve arranged a game I think you’ll like. You’ve been here for weeks and I’ve hardly had the opportunity to _really_ embarrass Theros. Here, take this—” she handed him a piece of paper with a list scrawled on it. “Follow the clues.”

“And where will you be?”

“Along. If you catch me then I’ll give you the answer to a clue of your choice,” she offered. It was hardly a fair deal since he hadn’t caught her yet, but… she was simply excited and Dorian could feel himself nodding before he even decided to agree. _“Grand._ Make it count, because Theros is going to kill me when he finds out.”

She disappeared rather abruptly— bloody rogues, the lot of them— but with an endorsement like that, how could Dorian say no?

The first clue on the list led him to an empty sparring area and a sword jammed into the ground. _Theros was going to train with a sword and shield, but a stable-girl bested him three times in front of father and so he quit to train with a bow. That scar on his thigh shaped like the east coast of Antiva is where our mystery guest nicked him last time they spoke._

… a mystery guest, then. Someone that Dorian didn’t know yet, who Theros was obviously purposely not telling him about. A thousand things ran through his mind at once— he struggled to banish them all until he had more clues.

The next one took him to a ballroom that only had servants running in and out of it. There was nothing going on but it seemed to be a convenient highway— as far as Dorian knew, the Trevelyan Estate had no secret passages for servants. His clue was handed to him quickly by a passing waiter, carrying a load of food that had to be off somewhere before Dorian could quiz him on exactly where Marcela was.

 _Theros is a terrible dancer. It’s worse than two left feet— it’s like he has eight of them he hasn’t quite mastered. When they were younger, Theros and the mystery guest would get danced out in front of visiting nobles and Theros would make a fool of them both._ Was the guest a woman then? Unless, of course, two men (or boys, as the note indicated) dancing together was less of an issue in the south. The note also seemed to imply they were at least _close_ in age.

He looked back down at the paper Marcela had given him. He still had eight more embarrassing little facts about Theros to learn, which was hardly doing anything to soothe the anxiety in his gut. For every story he heard about his lover— the year he’d slept out in the stables, his refusal to bathe from ages ten to thirteen, his downright strange obsession with eating peppers from the garden— he learned something new and vague about the mystery guest.

Whoever they were, Theros hated them and they hated him in return. No stories between the two of them were tender, and there was no neutral ground around them. They seemed to always be forced together, which eventually ended in an explosive argument that made sure they wouldn’t see each other again for months. It was both comforting and terrifying, since Dorian was fairly certain these clues were leading him straight to whoever the guest was.

The tenth clue was a simple sign on a heavy wooden door. _Knock, please (Lord Pavus only)._

And he did.

There was a rustling inside and a groan, and he tried not to linger on the fact that he was waking a stranger up for no better reason than _Marcela told me to._ He wondered if that excuse would be at all valid when whoever it was opened the door to run him through with a sword or something equally unpleasant, since they were clearly so opposed to Theros as a person. Seconds ticked by until the door was pushed aside.

There was an Antivan woman in a large shirt and hat and… Dorian turned his head, ever secure in the knowledge that he had no desire to see a woman in her smalls. _“Hola?”_ she asked, rubbing her eyes.

“Hello,” he blurted, still no stranger to awkwardness. “I am… Dorian Pavus,” he said, dropping the title since it meant less than nothing in the south.

“That’s nice,” she returned, steadying herself on the doorframe.

“I was wondering who _you_ were,” he offered, fully prepared to throw Marcela under the wagon wheel to save his pride..

“Captain Vana Marisol Trevelyan de Seleny,” she said so quickly that Dorian _almost_ didn’t catch it. His head snapped back towards her— and why not, she clearly didn’t care that she was half dressed— and he gaped. He saw it, he really did— the brown eyes, the high cheekbones, the thick nose and lips…

“Trevelyan?” he asked, all but reeling.

“That is what I said, yes? _Captain,_ which you seem to have missed— just sailed in this morning, _very_ early. It is why I was sleeping,” she said sourly.

Marcela appeared beside Dorian so suddenly it was all he could do to not _jump._ She smiled— she looked like this woman too, just as much as she looked like Theros. “Vana don’t be rude. This is Theros’ friend from Tevinter,” she said pleasantly, taking Dorian’s arm.

Vana suddenly fixed him with such a look that he could have been back _in_ Tevinter getting dressed down by his mother. “Why is he here bothering _me_ then?” she demanded, suddenly not addressing Dorian at all. She wouldn’t even look at him, which was… bizarre. Even more bizarre that he’d had no idea who she was until this very moment, and was still sort of uncertain. A cousin, perhaps, or another sibling. Younger or older, though?

“I thought I should introduce the two of you,” Marcela said with that sweet face. Vana glowered, but directed it at Dorian.

“My lady, you shouldn’t be playing around with one of Theros’ thugs,” she warned, her voice taking an oddly stiff tone. Marcela heard it too, frowning in a way that was so fabricated he could hardly believe Vana bought it. “Well what does he want to know me for anyway?”

“He’s Theros’ _friend,”_ she repeated, with more emphasis on the _friend_ than Dorian would have liked. “Don’t you think it remiss he not know his _friend’s_ twin sister?”

Maker’s _balls._

“I was… under the impression that _you_ were his only sibling,” he said towards Marcela’s golden head. Under that cute exterior was a demon, he knew— she was enjoying this.

“I’m not even his most recent one, as it turns out,” she responded with a smile.

“Of course he wouldn’t mention me. My brother and I don’t get along— if I’d known he was here I wouldn’t have stopped,” Vana told him, obviously regretting not asking. “Why am I seeing you and not him?”

“He’s out hunting,” Dorian reported, trying to decide what angle he wanted to deal with her at. On one hand, he did _desperately_ want the Trevelyans to approve of him so it wouldn’t do to be surly. On the other, she was rather… blunt about how much she hated Theros. Perplexing to Dorian, who couldn’t imagine how anyone could dislike him.

She snorted, an actual smile on her face. “He’ll hate that,” she said, then straightened up finally. “I’m going back to bed. It’s been good to meet you, Lord Pavus, and I’ll see you when I’ve had more sleep.” She doffed her wide, feathered hat at both him and Marcela. “My lady, stay out of trouble.”

When the door shut, Marcela was frowning. “She always calls me that,” she reported sullenly. “Terrified to call me by my name lest I cut her out of the family for the slight.”

“Wills have been rewritten for less,” he pointed out. He felt a strange sympathy for Vana in that— to have no one when everyone else seemed to function on an entirely normal level. To hate one sibling and fear the other; to hate one parent and fear the other. It all ended in isolation, either way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I'm not even gunna pretend like I'm gunna fix the end notes thing atm just have my link all the way through this mess. Looks sloppy as hell nvm I'm gunna fix it give me a sec.
> 
> 2) I love Marcela and I love Vana. Marcela is also an Inquisition playthrough— Blackwall romance so far, with Cole and Varric as acting besties— and I tried with Vana but idk, didn't really feel it. She was a Josie romance and I mean the dual was great but... eh. Also it was fucking hilarious because I modded the game and long story short Vana and the hot Antivan guy who's engaged to Josie were wearing the same outfit. #fauxpas


	4. Chapter 4

The docks of Ostwick were no Antiva City, Dorian was informed, but it was not Vana’s least favourite port. “Denerim,” she informed him absently. “A horrible dock, filled with poor elves trying to earn a living. When they drop— injury or exhaustion— they’re simply left where they fall. Vile.”

“You’ve never sailed into Vyrantium,” he said, although she didn’t seem the type to tolerate talk of Tevinter. She snorted, shaking her head.

“I knew there had to be something,” she said smugly. “Theros is drawn to people most would leave off— no offense.” Frankly she didn’t seem to care if she offended him or not, but he wasn’t unused to that.

“None taken.” He wondered how much Marcela had told her. “You don’t seem to think much of your brother,” he offered, still unsure if he wanted to voice his disapproval. He’d already proven several times that if teams were to be chosen, he would side with Theros every time.

“What has he done that I should think highly of him? Your Inquisition is run on subterfuge and under the table dealings, he keeps the company of known criminals, and he openly disrespects the Chantry. Which of that is my brother turning a new leaf and proving to me that I can trust him?” she demanded.

“Has he done something to you?” he asked wryly, because even the mere mention of Theros seemed to incense her. He wondered if it was the same in reverse— he’d find out of the man ever returned from that bloody hunting party.

“Since birth he has been _doing_ things. He blames me for how awkward he always feels, how disconnected from us he is. I am surprised he bothered to drag you here at all— normally he would simply wait until after the wedding to inform us he was married,” she snapped, and Dorian shifted.

“We’re not… it isn’t quite like that,” he said uncertainly, because he didn’t want to _lie_ but… _Maker_ he wasn’t comfortable with… going on about it yet. He still got the wind knocked out of him every time Theros was a bit too close in the library— he’d replayed their kiss over and over in his head, and as his anxiety spiked it became less about remembering and more about analysing the background for witnesses.

“Oh? I apologise. You are his type, and I presumed,” she said simply.

“His type?”

“I said so, didn’t I? Handsome, dangerous, and much smarter than he is— although granted, he’s had very few lovers. It is one thing I can say confidently about my brother, that he isn’t interested in sampling the whole countryside. Shockingly loyal, all things considered.” She leaned over a railing and took a deep breath of air choked with the smell of fish and overly perfumed imports. “So tell me about yourself then, before I continue going on about you.”

This was a less easy question, suddenly, then it’d been when Theros asked him in Haven. What about himself did he share with this woman? “What’s there to know, really? A mage, an _altus—_ Tevinter nobility—”

“Nobility?” she asked, and he shrugged.

“Only insomuch as you are.”

“I am a bastard,” she said shortly. “Unless you are as well, I hardly think it is the same.”

“Comparable to Marcela, then. My title is as much as I can make of it, and I… may or may not be my father’s heir. I haven’t written in a while,” he admitted. Not since Redcliffe, at least, not even to mother out of a sense of obligation. Vana grinned in a way that was mildly… predatory. Bolder than her brother, that was for certain.

“Perhaps I am unfair,” she offered, still looking amused. “With that sort of instability in your family, perhaps your title is as good as mine— worth all the flash but none of the cash?” He snorted because that was… terribly appropriate, actually.

“I’ve got an amulet, really. Show it off and people jump, but not much else,” he informed her.

“I’ve got an attitude problem and a penchant for keeping Raiders off my ship. My name just so happens to be the correct one, so I get my own command,” she returned. “It isn’t so bad— my crew is good and gives me no lip as if I’m riding on my name.”

“I don’t know how you can stand sailing all the time,” he quipped. “Just looking at the water move makes me sick to my stomach.” She rolled her eyes and straightened up.

“You are a pair, you and Theros. The _whining_ I get when he must travel by sea and doesn’t want to waste his time actually paying for an escort.” She stretched out, and then to Dorian’s surprise, clapped him on the back. “Come, I’ll show you the best place to eat in Ostwick. There’s a place near the inns where they make a seafood and noodle dish to die for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to me how little actual Marcela is included even though she's a gem.


	5. Chapter 5

Dorian barely noticed when Theros returned, but in fairness he was busy having his fortune told by Marcela. She was studying his tea leaves, admitting that she had no real idea what she was doing but was willing to take a crack at it. “I don’t much care for tea at all,” she admitted, gazing listlessly down into the cup. “Most of the time I simply drink some of father’s coffee. Vana hates it too, but drinks it because she thinks she will be disappointing mother by admitting it.”

“It’s the same with blood up in Tevinter,” he teased, and she made a face and laughed. There were hands on his shoulders, suddenly— thicker than Vana’s although the grip was about the same— and he jumped and turned back to see Theros grinning down at him.

The kiss hung in the air and Marcela stood to break the tension. She hugged her brother and patted Dorian’s shoulder. “Welcome home, Theros. You smell like sweat, but aren’t as irritable as I expected.”

“We didn’t catch a thing,” he reported with a grin. _“Nothing_ beats the disappointed looks on noble faces when they don’t get something they want.” He patted her head and reached behind her to run his thumb against the nape of Dorian’s neck. Bold, but he didn’t push him away because it’d been too long and Marcela bloody well knew everything else about him— except whatever those tea leaves might’ve told her.

“Shall I ruin it for you?” the little devil asked, and Theros’ face fell instantly.

“When did she sail in?”

“ _Days_ ago. She’s already dragged Dorian down to the port, the taverns, and I think a horse track,” the beast tattled. “Two peas in a pod— we all had lunch together, mother as well. We’ll be terribly disappointed if you let a darkspawn eat him.”

“I told you, the justice would be poetic. A Tevinter Altus getting eaten by the very darkspawn his homeland created,” Dorian teased, trying to lighten the crease that’d appeared on Theros’ brow. It didn’t quite work the way he wanted. “Now don’t pout, it was an interesting weekend. Your family isn’t even half as deranged as mine.”

“Are you certain you met Vana?” he asked flatly, then sighed. “I’m sorry, she puts me in a bad mood. Could you come help me unpack?” Marcela backed up a bit, grinning as she waited to be dismissed.

“Of course— if you don’t mind, Marcela,” he added politely, although they were decidedly past the point of politeness after the darkspawn conversation they’d most certainly had.

“That’s your cue to leave, little brat,” Theros added, with a more kindly attitude than the mere mention of Vana could get from him. The girl nodded and curtseyed and took off like her skirt was on fire— he was rather used to that too, at this point. Why arrive anywhere at a normal pace when you could be constantly _bursting._

Once safely alone in his room, Dorian gave him the kiss that’d been lingering between them. “It wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked, his lips barely lifting off of Theros’.

“Not as bad as when I was a teenager; fewer insistences that I get first kill, for the honour of the house I don’t belong to. What about you?” His hands dropped down to Dorian’s waist and the mage very clearly remembered how uncomfortable he’d been sleeping on his own. Theros had become a fixture in his bed, to the point where he’d considered trying to drop off in a chair or something like he did when he forgot to sleep altogether.

“Diverting,” he said tactfully. “I told you, your family is delightful. Your mother croons about me almost as much as I do, Marcela told me a novel’s worth of embarrassing stories about you, and Vana got me into a sufficient amount of trouble so I didn’t fade away from boredom.”

“Vana,” he said flatly, pulling away and planting a kiss on his temple before moving to the bags that really did need unpacking. “You like her too, then?” he asked.

“I do.” He really did. She was blunter than he was used to, and much less subtle than Theros would ever allow himself to be, but she was _fun_ and more tactful. She picked her fights carefully, but pick them she did— he’d witnessed an actual dual when a man had the audacity to grab her. Granted the both of them were rather drunk so it hadn’t been graceful, but good had triumphed over the belligerent ass.

“Good,” Theros said shortly. “It irritates me to have to defend her to people who speak poorly of her— now I can skip right to the part where I tell you she’s an uptight harpy that’s so repressed she hasn’t felt a real emotion since the Maker walked among us.”

Dorian shook his head, sitting on the bed and decidedly not helping with unpacking. “You really are the oddest of them all, _amatus._ It’s only a shame I didn’t get to bond with the Lord Trevelyan as well,” he said wryly.

“He isn’t my father,” Theros reminded him automatically. “And frankly you aren’t in the clear yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom, that's it. It's over. [My writing blog is here](http://nebulaad.tumblr.com) in case the link managed to escape you first time round, and I'm almost at 200 followers which would be neat.


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